Strong, Silent Fathers

What Happened To The Strong, Silent Father?

We’re talking about a man who imparts confidence by being confident himself. A man who shows, not tells, what it’s like to give and get respect from another human being.

The idea of fatherhood in North American culture has evolved enormously in the last 25 years. Whereas once you could stick a cardboard cut-out of a dude in a suit in a living room and everyone present would intone “Look, Dad’s home from work!” in unison, today’s dads come in all types. Soccer dads, absentee dads, stay-at-home dads, deadbeat hippie dads, over-compensating-yet-well-meaning executive dads, geeky dads — you get the idea.

What I want to know is, what the hell happened to that great archetypal genteel patriarch — the strong, silent dad?

I think because of the proliferation of other dad archetypes, there’s a misunderstanding surrounding the strong, silent type. It’s not the classical image of the working-class father who comes home to spend 15 minutes with his kids, only to retire to his bed/Barcalounger/favorite watering hole. It’s not the dad who came home drunk to silently beat your mom, because no one misses that guy. It’s not the guy who was so terrified of the fact he had kids that he avoided any kind of uncomfortable conversation with them whatsoever, nor was it the dad who waxed poetic over every societal or political injustice to come across the television. Being a strong, silent father has nothing to do with the volume of words spoken; it is about the weight of them. The density of them, if you will.

The strong, silent dad was the man you feared almost as much as you loved. A stay-at-home dad has to do what some of us view as a mother's job, admonishing us while explaining why the wrong things we did were wrong. The strong, silent dad would have none of that. The phrase “wait until your father gets home” carried with it an ominous terror on par with a text reading “Hey, it’s me. I’m late.” A soccer dad explains to you in detail that accidentally pouring kerosene into the ash bucket is careless and can hurt someone. The strong, silent dad comes in from the stifling cold with his eyebrows singed and face black with soot, grabs you by the collar and growls “never again.” That’s all you need. No dissertation on the physics of combustibles and heat sources. No lesson on fire safety. Just the scorched face of a man who nearly high-fived death telling you more with his expression than his words ever could.

As you got older, Dad’s words and actions carried as much weight as ever. It was a big deal if he showed up to your baseball game, because usually he was working to put food on the table. If the car needed fixing, as a boy you were out there whether you wanted to be or not. Once you did your part by putting the chocks behind the wheels before she was jacked up, not a lot of conversation happened. Mostly just a lot of staring interspersed with the occasional sounds of swearing and skinned knuckles.

As a matter of fact, Dad taught you how to swear, because when he cussed that POS ’92 Volvo you were driving, you knew it meant something. But between the swears and the passing of wrenches, when dad spoke, you learned something. “Always open up the master cylinder before you try to separate the brake calipers,” or “make sure you have the right torque wrench when you’re replacing a head gasket.” It’s the kind of thing you remember, because it was such a dense, obvious nugget of wisdom. That same cyclone of swear words, grease and vitriol was also quick to crack a joke, because being the strong, silent type didn’t mean he was devoid of emotion. Hell, even today’s gritty James Bond incarnation cracks a joke every few frames.

Regardless of how technologically advanced we get, every culture has some kind of ritual signaling the arrival of manhood. Some cultures do it with an oven mitt replete with bullet ants sewn in. Others do it through the handing over of car keys, or the first time Dad lets you change the struts on his truck. Either way, who better to bestow this ambiguous badge of honor than the strong, silent dad?

I’m all for gender equality, but there are some things that define us as men. It’s fine to cry when Old Yeller dies, but when the family pet needed to be “taken out back” and cooler heads needed to prevail, I know who I appreciated having as a role model. Not much, if anything, is easy in life, and someone has to be the rock for your family. That’s a dad’s job and, more broadly, a man’s job. Even the most ardent feminist appreciates a man who can stand by her in times of hardship and remain confident.

That’s not to say that girls have it any easier. While as men we may have to pass some kind of litmus test, girls more or less make it into “womanhood” the first time they have to make an embarrassing trip to the bathroom. For us, there’s not a lot of pressure to figure out what we like in a woman. Tall, short, big boobs, small ass, etc. As long as she shares some vague characteristics with our mother, it doesn’t matter. We’ll figure it out.

It’s not as simple for girls. Men are complicated, and they need to be managed somehow. As her dad, you’re setting the bar. That being the case, what woman wouldn’t be lucky to have the strong, silent type dad as their baseline? We’re talking about a man who imparts confidence by being confident himself. A man who shows, not tells, what it’s like to give and get respect from another human being. Some dads are good at showing everything a man is capable of. Strong, silent dads demonstrate exactly what a man should be.

I don’t want to disparage those who grew up with other kinds of dads, nor do I want to shortchange dads of different types, because all kinds of men make great fathers. But I hope that the strong, silent father isn’t a dying breed. I know I hope to keep it going.